I traced you back
in an etch a sketch,
laced with
the wretch of which I knew,
held with fingerprints
and shaded tints,
hints-
that bled with
blue
why can’t I shake,
shake,
shake,
shake,
from you?
why can’t these lines take
a break fromyou,
why must I make each mistake
from you,
why must each heart string strum,
strum from: from,
the way each part connected you.
the way the lines reach right too.
So I objected to my etch a sketch
and sketched a line right through,
a line I right,
a line I write,
for you
from you,
I faced you back in an etch a sketch
to see what you amounted to,
but
when I’ve only counted in angel feathers,
what the fuck
could I pluck
from you?
I picked on up my etch a sketch
of which must wish it flew,
not only when it broke my window,
but surely just